Quiet

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Well today I'm somewhere that feels like the end of my 7 stages of grief. Sure, I could Google them. But I won't. That's not my story. Mine seems today is something like peace. 

Today I've run out of tears to cry and I'm grateful for it. Today the sun hits my face just right. My playlist fills the front porch with sounds that convince my brain I'm a little bit French and I don't mind my coffee black. I hear the distant muffled sounds of mothers kissing their children farewell for school, a crooked old man watering his gardens, and a fuzzy dog just out of reach trying, to no avail, to chomp up a dying bug with wings. I see a tree so beautifully flowered with purple-sprung buds and my Pippa's nose can't sniff fast enough to get it all in. So I try, too. 

Today my therapy comes in silence and solitude. It is precious. 


 

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